Preening and Practice
by Ivory Bangle
Summary: Being preened over by a femme was a luxury a lot of mechs had been willing to pay good credits for on Cybertron – and not just because they could get grit out of all the tight places.


Just a random dirty fic I had to get out of my system. :D It doesn't go with any of my other stories. Just set sometime during the episode 'Evolution' after Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus' big tussle with Predaking.

For the record, it's really hard to write intimate scenes between participants that are so different in size from each other!

* * *

><p>Wheeljack kept saying he was fine, but Arcee was beginning to know the mech better than he gave her credit for. And, no bot could hide guilt and self-blame from the femme.<p>

She touched the door panel on his arm, and Wheeljack looked away from Ratchet and Ultra Magnus.

He'd fought hard. And, even after Ratchet's repairs on him, he was still favoring his non-dominant arm and putting on a show so no one would suspect his back and peds were aching. Arcee wasn't buying it.

"You doing okay?" she finally asked.

"I'm still two-fisted," he dismissed.

His confident energy field quieted as Wheeljack reigned in his emotions. He'd been open with her since they'd saved June and Fowler. It had been refreshing to feel it again, but now, to feel that companionship in a friendly energy field shrinking away, Arcee felt unsteady from the loss.

What had to be hurting the Wrecker most was that Magnus' injury would hinder his ability to fight. If it had been Wheeljack's hand that gotten crushed and he'd not be able to hold a sword or shift to a cannon …

"So is Magnus." He _would_ fight again. Ratchet would make it happen.

The femme offered him a smile when he looked down at her, and Wheeljack tried to return it convincingly. A black servo engulfed her shoulder, squeezed, and he turned to leave her to the little Team Prime powwow.

She glanced back at Smokescreen making an aft of himself for a moment. Optimus met her optics over everyone else's heads. She silently gestured toward Wheeljack's retreating back, and the prime gave her his dismissal with a small nod that the others didn't see.

Arcee followed Wheeljack out of the hangar to the building that he and Bulkhead had claimed. He paused in the door and looked back at her, waiting to hear what she'd followed him to say.

"Aren't you calling it a night?" he asked tiredly.

"Got to wait until everyone clears out of my hangar." She shrugged. "Thought I'd hit the wash racks, but Bulkhead mentioned you'd rigged yours a little better than a tiny, cold powerwasher."

"The only difference is it's a tiny, hot powerwasher now," he said, waving toward the back partition. "But, help yourself,"

She watched him shut the bay door after her and looked around. Ultra Magnus had helped him move the wreckage of the Jackhammer here, but it had sat in neglect this whole time. Part of the reason was because the only bot that could fix it had been preoccupied with fighting for his cause. The other setback was that Wheeljack had surrendered any salvageable Cybertronian technology to Ratchet to build a new groundbridge.

"I can wait until you're done," she offered.

"Go for it. I'm too drained to care about being dirty."

"You sure?" She touched his servo, and smiled when he looked down at her again. "Half the reason you're still sore as scrap is because of all the grit and rocks in your joints. I can help."

He was about to brush her off again in favor of being left alone, but the femme stepped closer.

"Come on, Wheeljack." Arcee tugged slightly at his bracer then let go. "One time offer. When's the last time you let someone wash your back?"

Arcee turned away from him to let him consider and went back to the place the wash racks were located in her and Ratchet's shared quarters. All these hangars had the same layout.

Oh, how far she'd come from hot oil baths and high-gloss chassis waxes.

Like hers and the medic's, it was literally just a powerwasher from the hardware store hung on a wall behind a hastily-built cinder block partition. At least Ratchet was a civilized gentlemech, and always remembered to move it back down to her reach when he was done. This was not the case in the Wreckers' bachelor pad. But still, she turned it on and enjoyed the heat of it, even if it wasn't taking any dirt or grime off very effectively at it's current height.

"You're one to talk," she heard Wheeljack say from the doorway. Arcee turned to look at him. "I figured Doc would take better care of his roommate, but your back looks as bad as mine."

She smirked as the white mech pulled the sprayer off the wall and moved it lower for her.

"I've been getting Jack to help me with it."

But, he didn't have the strength to get in all the places she needed. Wheeljack's fingers began the methodical task of gently shifting plating apart and scrubbing grit and grime away from her irritated protoform. She couldn't keep the blissful relief from her energy field. Primus, she'd sleep like she was in stasis tonight.

The smell of the blue soap Fowler had bought for them in economy sized drums hit her olfactory sensors, and she felt it dripping down her back. A soft sponge began to rub it in, aware of how sensitive her winglets and their joints were.

She vented a sigh. "I can reach the rest of it."

"You sure?" Wheeljack chuckled. "It's no trouble at all."

She snickered. "You first. You're the one that needs it."

The mech lowered himself to his knees under the steaming water and sat on his tires. Arcee stepped around to his back, and he folded his wing fins up and out of the way. The joints of most mechs were wider and were normally easier to keep clean, but Wheeljack had painful looking shards of rock jammed under plating and stuck in transformation joints after his fight with Predaking.

He flinched as her sharp fingers began plucking them away from his dark gray protoform, and she instinctively ran her servo over his shoulders to soothe away the discomfort.

"What did he do? Bury you under a cave in?"

He grunted as she pulled another jagged piece free, and Arcee felt bad when a trickle of energon began to well up around her fingers from beneath the plating.

"I think that would've been preferable," he tried to joke. "He hit me with half the fragging ceiling. It knocked me out cold … long enough for him to focus on Ultra Magnus."

He began to slump, but she ran a hand up his back and between his wing fins when they unfolded reflexively at the touch. It certainly made the mech straighten up.

"It wasn't your fault, Wheeljack," she said, picking her way up a seam to his shoulder. "We all know the risk, and we're all willing to take it or we wouldn't be here."

The Wrecker relaxed again as she worked her way down and back up to his other arm's socket. Satisfied, Arcee scooped up a servo of soap and dribbled it across his shoulders and down his back before taking the sponge and lathering it up in the comfortable silence.

"I always knew white was high-maintenance," she chuckled. "But, you never looked this grungy before."

"I had the Jackhammer before," he pointed out. "Its decontamination chamber was calibrated specifically for me."

"You might want to get that fixed first if you want to keep looking your best. It's impossible to stay clean on this planet."

"What's the rush?" he shrugged. "This treatment's not so bad."

She brought the sponge up to wash around his neck and audio receptors and the back of his helm. He tipped it to the side and his engine rumbled as she scrubbed deeper into the aching cables and hydraulics. Arcee smiled, stepping up against his broad back to clean his helm.

The mech's energy field tightened with a strong emotion and his wing fins lowered and tilted to better sense her proximity.

"Here," she instructed, moving away to the side, ignoring his excitement. "Lift up."

Wheeljack raised his arm obediently.

Her fingers drifted over his pauldron and gauntlet, carefully washing away the road dirt and inspecting where it met his dark protoform for rocks. She couldn't help noting the plating's impressive thickness and weight. One didn't simply choose to be a warrior and pick up the armor with the upgrades. Only conditioning made one's armor plates thicker and strengthen the frame and hydraulics to support it. Hard training. Harder fighting.

Arcee heard him him chuckle and realized her energy field had gotten away from her. She yanked it back under control, and Wheeljack's optics snapped forward when she looked at him. But, the satisfied smirk didn't leave his scarred faceplate.

Up close, his white plating was just as riddled with dents and scratches as everyone else's. He undoubtedly had more weld scars than everyone else though. It came with the Wrecker territory, she guessed. Most of them looked old, but she worked around them carefully just in case.

He met her optics again as she made her way across his chest and under his chin, and she could sense his spark rate rising. Arcee matched his smile knowingly. Being preened over by a femme was a luxury a lot of mechs had been willing to pay good credits for on Cybertron – and not just because they could get grit out of all the tight places.

She continued on down his other arm. Wheeljack flexed his servo to catch hers and held it as she wordlessly switched the sponge to her other servo and washed the back of his fingers and the underside of his gauntlet without looking away from her task again. His face fell theatrically when she tugged it free. Arcee chuckled at him and got another handful of soap. When she came back to face him again, his brow rose.

"Up on your peds," she gestured.

The mech didn't argue.

Without hesitation, she knelt and began washing out his ankle joints and the plating on his shins. His energy field felt leaden now. Arcee couldn't look up, or she'd lose control over hers completely.

Wheeljack played along patiently as she worked the soap up his thighs and even into the joints of his hips. She circled his waist and finally stepped back, avoiding looking at the only part she hadn't touched.

"Now, doesn't that feel better?" she whispered.

"Much," he rumbled. "Glad I didn't just go power down."

"You did need it pretty bad."

She reached to turn off the water, but he caught her servo against the wall and she felt him bend over her and his helm against the back of hers and his mouth on the nape of her neck. Primus. Her spark burned in it's chamber as her fist balled beneath his palm.

"Sorry. I thought you were done," she said innocently, smiling over her shoulder at him.

"Not yet. You missed a spot." His ventilations felt hot against her back, making her winglets spread involuntarily. The mech ran the edge of his dente down along one, making Arcee take an unsteady, gasping breath.

He didn't let her servo go this time when she tried to turn and face him. No force in the universe could contain her energy field, and the arousal Wheeljack felt in it made his temperature rise enough to be felt through the hot water when he knelt close behind her.

"Mmmm … I was getting to it," she promised.

Arcee felt his helm come to rest against her shoulder between her winglets and his free servo caress down her back, the thumb exploring the edge of the armor at her waist, the fingers splaying around the front of her hips and down her thigh. She smiled at the wall, bringing her other servo up to brace herself against it and relaxed.

Finally, he had to let her go, so his other servo could join the first, and Arcee turned in them to face him. His blue optics met hers and he caught her mouth, pressing her back to the wall. Her engine whined an octave higher with excitement, and she drew her arms around his neck, clutching him against her.

"Wheeljack …"

Before Arcee could react, he'd hooked his servos behind her knees and lifted her to his level against the wall. Her spark fluttered pleasantly, and a pulse of excitement from long-dormant hardware made her arch her back, pushing against Wheeljack's hips. His servos slipped down to wrap her peds around behind his waist, and Arcee willingly held him to her.

She grabbed the edge of the plating on his shoulder to shift her weight more off the flimsy human structure. Wheeljack eyed it skeptically as well but only for an instant before returning his full attention to the femme grating her armor so close to his hot panel.

The mech arched a brow smugly before dipping to sup at her throat. The feeling of his thick, hot glossa caressing the sensitive fuel lines made her shiver.

She tugged him up again. Her servos searched out seams in his armor, and Arcee couldn't fight the instinct to pull herself in line against the chamber beneath the mech's chest plating. He pressed into her as hard as he dared. Her sensors could feel his spark throbbing as hard as her own, but he let her distract him with her lips pressing light kisses beneath his audio receptor.

"Sorry," she whispered. It had been a while.

She felt him grin and a hot vent of exhaust blew under her plating pleasantly. The femme shifted her weight so her pelvic armor could retract and the mech was quick to move his servos up her thighs and locate the exposed panel with his fingertips. After he'd gotten her spark racing, he only had to trace the edge with a ghost of a touch. She flinched in surprise when she opened so readily for him.

"I think you might be a little excited," he teased.

Fragger, she thought, but couldn't keep from smiling as he accosted the supple sensor node he'd discovered.

Arcee drew her arms around his neck again as he made her legs quake. She whimpered, pulling herself up, but it was impossible to distance herself from the intensity while he held her like this she realized.

"... ah!" she gasped.

Arcee tilted her hips to invite his touch deeper and slipped her servo down over his fingertips.

"Yes," she whispered, unable to keep the purr of her engine out of her voice.

"Yeah?" he grinned, following her servo's guidance.

His energy field felt crushing with arousal now. It made her spark burn, and she wasn't shocked to feel an overload already creeping up on her, making her winglets contract and her fans cut out.

"Wheeljack …!" Her hips rocked against his fingers. "Ah … ha! Wheeljack …"

The euphoric heat spread from her spark to all of her systems in a searing, slow tide. The mech growled hungrily at her audio receptor, his ventilations unsteady.

"Nng … please," she panted. "Yes … yes!"

She felt his hydraulics tighten with the surge in her energy field, and he buried his faceplate in her throat, nipping maddening kisses up her cables as the crash robbed it of it's voice for what felt like a dizzying eternity.

At last, coolant began to move again, and her spark accepted it was only going to get half of what it was trying to demand of the mech's. Arcee caressed his helm, making him draw away to meet her optics.

"When's the last time you got some attention?" he scolded playfully.

"It's been ... a while," she vented, smiling.

He welcomed her lips and playful glossa again. Arcee felt him against her thigh and abdomen and pulled away to look and confirm the excitement in her overloaded energy field had been more than enough to make Wheeljack's plating retract and his panel open for business. He shuddered at the feel of her servo on him, and his engine whined faster.

"Been even longer since I was with a mech your size."

"Sweet … Primus …" he strained, enduring another involuntary rise and fall of his thundering sparkrate.

Arcee didn't need her sensors to feel it now. Her own spark fluttered to sync up to his with blissful, almost painful, determination.

She directed his lips to hers to distract his instincts again. The mech vented unsteadily for a few moments, and she felt his hydraulics tighten with the effort to not crush her through the flimsy wall.

The femme reached behind his neck to stroke a wing fin. Both perked as Wheeljack went rigid. They were hot enough by now that she could see the ripples of heat coming off of them despite the water.

"When's the last time YOU got any attention?" she purred.

The mech only chuckled dangerously, his servos returning to her aft as he let her slip back down the wall, out of the reach of his mouth. He rested his helm against the wall above her, and she flashed an impish smirk up at him, arching her back to guide him to where she wanted.

The purr in her engine deepened almost to a growl.

"Pit …" he hissed as his fingers tightened on her her thighs. "Gah … fffragit!" he growled, revving his engine and forcing his servos to let loose before he hurt her.

Arcee hardly noticed. All of her sensors' feedback felt like static punctuated only with pleasure and heat. She bucked against him impatiently, inviting Wheeljack deeper, but he seemed content to torment only the first clusters of her nodes and wouldn't be hurried. Somewhere in the back of her processor, she made a note to thank him when she could still walk later and wouldn't have to see Ratchet. And slag it all, did it feel amazing besides.

Her legs' grip on him loosened as she gasped. If he'd not been holding her, she probably would've fallen to the floor.

"Wheeljack … yes …" she panted through her fans between kisses along the seams in his chest plating. "Yes! Yes!"

The plating on his hips was digging into her thighs at the angle he was working, scratching and sparking, but even that wasn't enough to distract from the pleasure nodes he was hitting.

"Ha!"

She felt the tension coiling again in her entire frame and in the mech's energy field. Primus! How long did he intend to draw it out?!

Her spark surged ahead eagerly, making Wheeljack fumble for an instant. He groaned against the wall, jerking as his hydraulics stiffened. Arcee curled her claws in deeper behind his plating and had to laugh to keep from screaming as an overload seared through her systems again.

When the tension dissipated, Wheeljack finally relented, bucking as gently as a mech his size could to seat himself in her hips completely and making her gasp and squirm as she adjusted, still hypersensitive from the overload.

He chuckled, and she looked up at him. The mech grinned, resting his helm back against the chipped and cracking cinder blocks.

"You should laugh more often," he rumbled. "And smile."

Arcee realized she was in fact beaming up at him now. She felt her faceplate heat but couldn't stop. Instead, she tried to hide behind kissing his chest plates again.

"It makes you even prettier."

"Yeah," she tried to scoff, but her voice softened. "Maybe I will."

Wheeljack's energy field was so tangled with hers by now, she wasn't fast enough to hide away all the old emotions that came rushing forward. He vented heavily and his crooked grin spread to the Wrecker's own uncharacteristic smile.

"Maybe? Only maybe?" he chuckled.

His spark surged this time, pulling hers along with it helplessly and making the femme seize around him. He grunted a half-laugh and grated his armor into hers even harder than before. She was going to have white paint all over her she thought distantly, but couldn't bring herself to care.

"Wheeljack! Oh, frag!"

Her peds locked behind the mech's hips as tightly as she could.

"Pit …" he seethed. "You panting my name's pretty slaggin' sexy too, for that matter."

Arcee had to laugh again and looked up at him as she ran her glossa up the seam over his spark chamber, being sure to smile. His growl deepened, and he set a delicious pace, hitting every node she knew she had and then some.

"Wheeljack!" She straightened, arching into him. "Gah! Ah … ! Ah! Wheel … jack! Frag!"

"Oh yes …" he groaned. His servos moved to cradle her back, holding her against his frame. "Yes! Ah … Arcee …"

His engine roared, drowning out his labored vents and finally his moan as she felt the mech's heat heighten her overload like fire on highgrade.

It jarred her to her struts when he dropped to his knees on the concrete floor. He reached up and thumbed the hot water off and leaned back to let it run over both of them again and cool their overworked systems. Arcee shuddered at the cold hissing on her hot winglets but spread them wider.

She shifted in his servos to sit on one of his thighs and rest her side against him, savoring the contentment in the shared energy field they would have for a few moments before their sparks accepted they weren't going to merge.

_Magnus would be fine._

_They had to have faith._

_Together, they would win this._

Amusement shimmered through the temporary bond, and his fingers crept up her leg to clasp her waist.

"That's what this was all about?" he vented, his warm exhaust tickling her winglets. "You didn't think I knew that? Doc'll have him patched up and back on his peds, and he'll back to his old lovable self in no time."

Arcee only smiled, purring her engine. Let him decide later if he really believed he'd thought that all along, or if it was her thoughts in his processor.

Wheeljack's vents hiccuped, and she felt him flinch as he clutched his spark.

"You okay?" she asked, lifting her helm to look up at him. She shivered when he ran a hot winglet between two fingers.

"Fine," he chuckled, shuttering his optics. "Just out of practice."

Arcee snickered, kissing his chin. "Best I've had in vorns," she scoffed dismissively.

"The species is doomed if mechs can't make time to do it right for a femme like you. Intergalactic war is a slagging poor excuse."

She grinned, moving to her knees between his thighs so she could reach his mouth again. He welcomed her lips and glossa again happily, lifting a servo to the side of her face.

"I think we'll manage," she whispered against his lips.

She felt the mech smile, and he pressed his face to hers tenderly.

"Still," he rumbled. "More practice couldn't hurt anything."


End file.
